


haunted by the ghost of you

by merthurxmalec



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers 4 speculation, Gen, Heavy Angst, M/M, i don't really know how to tag this, i'm sorry i had to, iron dad and spiderson, post Avengers 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-17 18:42:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15467607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merthurxmalec/pseuds/merthurxmalec
Summary: Peter Parker has lost, and he has lost, and he has lost.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I read something on tumblr, promptly started crying a bunch and then decided I need to cry more by writing a fic about it. 
> 
> As usual, this isn't beta'd so all mistakes are my own. 
> 
> (Title is from The Night We Met by Lord Huron)

**_New York, Queens- 2014_ **

****

The fluorescent lights of the street lamp was really the only source of light illuminating a dingy alleyway in Queens, and even then the amount of light was miniscule, only a drop of water in a vast lake if anything at all. And yet, Peter Parker was walking down the alleyway with his left arm thrown lazily over his eyes, the diminutive bursts of yellow light highlighting the bruises that littered his knuckles and face. Peter Parker didn’t know how to stand away from a fight- never did, and probably never will. The difference was, however, that suddenly his body became host of a newfound strength Peter, for all his genius-ness, didn’t really understand. Everything seemed excessive these days- he could feel every change in the air, every drop in the temperature. He could feel every reaction in his body being amplified tenfold, whether it be happiness or pain or anger. It was… exhilarating, in a sense. Peter woke up one morning and felt himself change, felt himself _matter._ He was no longer Penis Parker, the nerd no one liked except when he used his ample intelligence to win them a trophy. Suddenly he was Peter- he was strong and different and he _mattered._

 

He loved the feeling, loved every hair in his body tingling with anticipation with the slightest bit of movement. Loved being able to hear every car passing by, every laughter shared amongst friends as they parted ways after a bustling night in the bar, with promises to meet again and reassurances to text. It was amazing, that feeling- seeing people belong. Peter was so used to be in the outside of everything that being in the inside suddenly made him miss a life he never knew he wanted.

 

So yes, in all Peter loved his newfound Spidey-senses. But it wasn’t all good.

 

Walking down that alley was refreshing. Shadows played around him, enclosing him in a space he didn’t want to be in. Everything was amplified, and right now his body was consumed with a rage he had never felt before. He just wanted to be understood, wanted someone to understand the pleasure he’s been feeling. The whole world seems to be at his feet right now, so sue him for forgetting to buy the milk!

 

He knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he should not have argued with Ben and May. His uncle and aunt- his _parents_ because of course that is what they were- gave him everything and asked for very little in return. One of the few things they did ask for was for him to pick up the goddamn milk.

 

He knows, of course he knows- but he can’t control this feeling that has been blubbering inside him like a wild beast he doesn’t know how to tame. Part of him knows he should tell Ben and May about the spider bite, about everything that has changed for him. The problem was never about their reaction- his Uncle Ben and Aunt May have been nothing but supportive of him his entire life, and he knows better than to think that him suddenly developing mutant powers would change that. It was about him, always about him. It was about the little boy who had been left with his aunt and uncle for the weekend in a small apartment in Queens whilst his parents took a small business trip with promises of a new toy and a trip to the zoo when they get back. It was about the boy who never left the apartment afterwards. It was about the boy who wanted a chance to feel _good,_ to stop feeling as powerless as he has felt since his parents boarded a plane and never got off.

_I’ll tell them tonight,_ he decides as he exists the dark alleyway and into the bustling streets of Queens.

 

But first, he was going to pick up some milk.

 

He walked towards a small corner shop to his right, his mind busy running through the events that had transpired earlier that day. Peter was never a sporty one, always picked last for teams. His quality were his brains, and going to a school for genius’, that quality wasn’t particularly outstanding either. And yet there he was today, swiping the basketball from under Flash’s feet and slam dunking it through the hoop. Flash’s face had been red- a look that used to scare Peter once upon a time but now brought him a sense of happiness and pride that Peter was both revered by and ashamed of. _This isn’t me-_ he knew that deep in his bones and yet he could not help but marvel at the fact that for once in his life, the crowd was cheering for him.

 

He grinned to himself, and promptly missed the car that was speeding its way towards him- didn’t realise until a force collided with him and pushed him flat into the pavement.

 

And then he heard a scream.

 

He smelt the copper scent of blood before he saw it, followed the trail to the squashed figure lying in a flattened heap on the floor less than five feet from him.

 

He saw a man, disfigured and so incredible _not alive,_ his chocolate curls caked with blood.

 

He edged closer.

 

By the time he registered that the tormented screams were coming from his own mouth, his vision had gone black and he landed in a crumpled heap on the ground, next to his dead uncle’s body.

 

**_New York, 2018_ **

****

There was a boy standing a small stage in front of a red and gold casket- a boy, not a man, although the tiredness in his eyes would suggest otherwise. He was wearing a tailored black suit, solemn and depressing, the only splash of colour coming from a loosened tie around his neck- a red and gold tie with the face of a hero. A lifetime ago, calloused hands had wrapped that very tie around his neck as he squirmed out of reach, giggles erupting with each exasperated sigh of _keep still, kid!_

 

That boy had known loss, too, but he had also gained happiness. He had basked in the moments of beauty that had been thrown his way by a man with tired eyes but a bright smile.

 

He had hated that tie, then. Hated that he was being forced to wear it in public. Hated the feeling of suffocation that the tie brought- he found it equivalent to torture.

 

That boy didn’t know what the true meaning of torture was. He was more innocent.

 

His hollow eyes scanned the big room, occupied by only about 10 people.

 

 Most people who mattered had died, too.

 

Somehow, that didn’t mean much to him.

 

“All my life,” the boy began, his voice breaking, “all I have done is lose. I lost my parents, I lost my uncle, I lost a shot at a normal life. But for everything I lost, I gained something too. When I lost any resemblance of sanity because everything was so hard to manage, I gained tutor time on the dining table with pineapple pizza where I learnt thing I didn’t even know I wanted to learn. When I lost a feeling that resembled belonging, I gained lab days where rock music was blasted so loudly I frankly felt I will go deaf before I turned 18.” He paused, let the fond chuckles wash over him. “When I lost motivation, a found an encouraging voice guiding me through every problem I ever had, big or small.”

 

He took a deep breath, shaky and broken, much like him.

 

“When I lost an uncle, a gained a dad. A dad who loved me, nurtured me, who taught me that no one is too young to be a hero.”

 

He looked up, a single tear rolling down his cheeks.

 

“I once told him that I wanted to be like him. He told me he wanted me to be better. I didn’t say anything then, but I will say it now.”

 

“That is bullshit. No one can be better, because you were as good as it gets. You were- you _are-_ my hero. I hope I can be even half the man you were, because you were everything.”

 

He was crying now, he knew it. Others may have been too, but he didn’t care.

 

“I love you. I wish I’d told you, just once. I wish I could tell you that you were the dad I always needed. I wish I could tell you that I will work hard every day to be the son you wanted me to be.”

 

Peter Parker crumpled on the floor beside the red and gold casket which held the lifeless body of Tony Stark, and he cried.


	2. all then most of you, some and now none of you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is never easy to deal with losing someone who meant the world to you. 
> 
> Peter doesn't know how to deal with it. 
> 
> Neither does Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't planning on continuing this at all, ever but writing iron dad angst is a great way to procrastinate packing. 
> 
> Not beta'd as usual so all mistakes are my own.

Somewhere in the distance Peter Parker could hear the loud thumping on the marble floor of the compound which indicated that Steve was up again. It was a daily occurrence now- Peter does not remember a time since he started living at the compound in which he did not find Steve Rogers roaming the halls in the middle of the night.

 

Well, find was a generous term. The third time Peter had heard the rustling outside as Steve paced the hallways, he had ventured out of his room, still in the Iron Man pyjamas he refused to change out of. A part of him wondered if Captain America was victim to a case of sleep walking and figured that he would probably be considered a traitor to his country if he did not go and help the Captain. When he followed the sounds however, he didn’t find a dazed Captain America walking the corridors of the compound in a dazed manner. No, he found the door to Tony’s room open, and Peter did not need to be a genius to figure out who was inside there.

 

After the… battle, all the Avengers had dissipated, promising to be back if they are needed. Clint was first; he needed to go back home, needed to check on his family. Peter understood that, of course he did. The last few years since the Snap had put a lot into perspective for a lot of people. Only once Peter had lost all his family, had shut them all out as he mourned had he realised the concept of time. Peter Parker was a physicist at heart- he understood the relative concept of time. He understood that time never stopped for anyone, never tried to cater for anyone’s needs. It just went on, and people had to just make the most of it. Peter was too late to do so; Clint wasn’t.

 

Natasha was next, although Peter was not certain where exactly she went. He had just found a letter slipped under his door one morning, and he knew that he probably won’t see Natasha again, at least for a very long time.

 

**_Take care, little spider-_** the note had said. Peter had shoved it into a draw without a second glance- an empty draw, all except for one other letter Peter tried his best not to think about.

 

One by one, all the Avengers had disappeared, all needing to go somewhere far away and mourn. Pepper had gone back to Malibu soon after everything had happened. She had looked at Peter, a silent question in her eyes even though she knew the answer before she had even asked it. Peter shook his head, a faint movement but still there, and Pepper had understood. “He would be proud of you,” she had whispered in his ear as she hugged him goodbye. Peter didn’t want to point out her lie.

 

Bucky was the last one to go, had clasped Steve tightly in his arms before slinging a bag over his shoulder and leaving without a word. Peter understood that need, too. He knew what dying felt like, after all. He just didn’t have the luxury to leave.

 

All the Avengers had left, all except one.

 

When Peter had asked him why, during one of those rare moments when Peter ventured out of his room or the lab long enough to bump into anyone. Steve had stayed quiet for a long time, long enough that Peter thought that perhaps it was just something he had said in his head instead of out-loud. Then Steve had looked up, his azure eyes- clouded and tired with sleep and grief- searched Peter’s brown ones for a moment before he said “because this is home,” walking into the elevator to leave Peter alone with his thoughts.

 

It hadn’t felt like home to Peter in a long time.

 

The night Peter had followed Steve on his nightly expeditions, he had taken a deep breath outside the deep mahogany doors he had gone out of his way to avoid and slowly slipped inside, taking a moment to be hit with the ache that had only managed to be dulled in the last few months- dulled, but never disappeared. Sometimes, the ache intensified- it intensified whenever Peter entered the lab, or when Dum-E glided forlornly through the lab, missing her creator just as furiously as Peter did. Peter took a moment to look around the room, still exactly in the same way it was left the day Tony Stark had gone into battle and had never come out. The pictures were still up on the wall of Peter, Tony, Rhodey, Pepper and Aunt May last year on Christmas when Pepper and Aunt May (a friendship which was not to be reckoned with, as Peter and Tony had discovered the long way) had decided that it would be a ‘bonding experience’ to decorate the tree together. Only someone present at the scene could point out that the blur of movement in the corner was Dum-E, whizzing to Tony in order to hand him the Iron Man ornament that had been a gag-present from Peter the previous Christmas. Tony’s eyes were crinkling in the way it only did when he smiled freely, openly without the pretences he so often had to put on, ruffling Peter’s hair as Peter tried to wriggle out of his grasp. It was a happy photo; the Peter then had been happy of having the family he had always so deeply desired. The Peter now misses the Peter he used to be then.

 

Tony’s majestic bed was still made in all its red and gold glory, still big and lonely. Peter knew that Tony never liked it- more often than not he would sleep on the large sofa pushed to the side in the lab. On the side of the bed however, sprawled across the soft red carpet, was a super soldier who sat with his back to the bed, his eyes unfocused as he stared into the distance, tightly clutching one of Tony’s ratty band t-shirts to his chest, holding it in a way so that his nose was buried in it.

 

Peter doesn’t know how long he stood there with his back against the door frame, finding a small space for himself next to Steve as they both grieved the man they had loved, albeit in different ways.

 

Steve’s eyes were still unmoving even when his mouth did. His voice was raw when he spoke, the hours he had spent crying betrayed by a single word. “It still smells like him,” he had whispered, and Peter could do nothing except walk out, letting a man grieve the person he loved. 

 

 

That night, Peter had opened the drawer and fished a letter out, the envelope fraying around the edges due to the number of times it had been handled but still unopened nonetheless. He toyed with it for a few moments, turning it over in his hands and examining the little cartoon Spiderman sticker that sealed the envelope close.

 

He looked over to the downturned frame sitting on his desk- the frame Peter had flung face down weeks ago because Peter is not strong enough, not nearly strong enough. His strength got buried six feet under in a red and gold casket with his mentor and father.

 

He picked the frame up tonight though, his thumb gently stroking the smiling faces of himself and his mentor, both sitting on a couch with a Hulk plushie between them. Tony had one arm thrown lazily over Peter’s shoulder, the other trying to prise the Ben and Jerry tub from Peter’s greedy fingers. _The ice cream is named after me, kid, so I get first dibs_! Tony had said as Peter tried to move the ice cream further from his reach. They were both laughing even though Tony tried to put on a fake pout. Peter could hear the laughter still ringing in his eardrums, and an involuntarily giggle arose from his own throat at the memory.

 

Taking a deep breath, Peter opened the envelope.

 

_Hey Underoos,_

_If you’re reading this- and you better be reading this kid, because letters are so outdated and the futurist in me is cringing at the fact that I am writing one (I’ve turned into Steve, save me!)- it means that we succeeded. I mean, of course we succeeded, they don’t call me a genius “for bants” as you would say._

_(See kid, I do pay attention to you sometimes.)_

_If you’re reading this letter, it also probably means I didn’t make it._

_All I can say to that is- I’m sorry. I know you, Pete. I know you are probably blaming yourself. Somehow your self-depreciating mind has convinced you this is because of you, because I wanted you back. You’re not entirely wrong there, Peter. I did do it all to get you back._

_See the thing, kid, is that I am a very selfish man. I don’t know how or why you always managed to see the best in me, how you put me up in a pedestal I don’t think I deserve, but it is the truth. I am selfish, and I don’t deal with loss very well._

_Here is another truth: when I met you, I was a very broken man. Don’t get me wrong- pieces of me were being chipped long before you were even born. You know when you accidentally drop something and it hits the corner of the table but there is only a little crack, but overtime the crack keeps getting bigger and bigger with every little movement? That was me. Howard had put the first crack in me, and then every day the crack got a little bigger. It got bigger when my parents died, when Afghanistan happened, when I flew into the wormhole not expecting to ever come out. But it was okay, it was a crack I could live with. But then the shitstorm with the Accords and Steve happened, and suddenly that crack wasn’t just a crack. It was like a great portion of the glass was just missing. But you, kid? You picked that broken piece up and webbed it back on and somehow it stayed. A kid much like you once told me that I’m a mechanic, that I am supposed to fix things. You are a better mechanic than I am, Peter, because you are the one who fixed me. You made the broken man whole again- chipped, but whole nonetheless._

_So yes, I did crash heaven and earth together to get you back because you are all I have. And if something happened to me in the process than well, I am proud that I went down fighting for the person I love the most.  I tried to live for you, Peter- I really did. But if I couldn’t live for you, then I am happy to die for you instead.  That was my choice, and I will never regret it so please don’t blame yourself for it._

_I’m sure this letter came with the legal mumble-jumble that told you that you are the heir to Stark Industries. This wasn’t quite the way I wanted to tell you, but what can you do right? Here’s the thing, kid- I wasn’t much older than you when SI got passed on to me. I never really wanted it, simply because I didn’t think I could ever live up to my father’s legacy. I did try though, I took SI to great levels, got called ‘The Merchant of Death’ because that was what my father would have wanted. It took me a shrapnel making its way to my heart and then said heart getting replaced by a car battery to realise that that maybe what Howard Stark was remembered by, but not what Tony Stark wanted his legacy to be. We all need to create our own legacies- I wish I was there to see yours. But I trust you, and I believe in you. I know you will revolutionize life, just like how you did mine. I wanted to give you the world, Pete, but sadly this letter and a company is all I am capable of._

_I love you, kid. I’m sorry I never got to say that to you- I thought we would have more time. But I’m proud of you, kid. I always have been, and I always will be. When you graduate, when you finally work up the guts to ask MJ out- everything you do will make me proud of you, regardless of whether I am there or not. You’re my son, Peter- there is no other way to say it. I hope I was able to be a father to you, too._

_Keep smiling, kid. Live._

_Love,_

_Tony_

It was that letter Peter was fingering when he had heard Steve pacing in the hallways for the umpteenth time. Peter had read the letter so many times he had it memorised word for word now. He had memorised every curve, every flick of Tony’s pen as he’d poured his heart out to tell Peter goodbye. The routine was familiar to Peter now, almost a month after that night Peter had opened the letter. He would get home from school, usually to find Steve pointing Peter in the direction of a snack. He would go to his room to do his homework, only coming out when JARVIS would inform him that dinner is ready. He would go to the kitchen to find that Steve had already left, leaving a plate of food for him to eat. Usually, Aunt May would come to the compound straight from work; she would ruffle his hair and press a kiss to his temple and Peter would be able to pretend that nothing has changed. After dinner, Peter would stare at his Spiderman suit- standing in its own glory next to the Iron Man suit in the lab- and try to make himself put it on, but he had left Spiderman in a pile of ash on Titan months ago. When he would go back to his room, he would head straight to his draw and fish out the letter and will his eyes to cry. He hadn’t cried since the funeral. Apparently, that wasn’t healthy. When he would hear Steve out in the compound, he would pretend that it is nothing out of the ordinary.

 

Tonight, it was different, however. Tonight, the soft thud of Steve’s footsteps was deafening to Peter. Tonight, his feet carried him out of his door and towards Steve like an external force, like some sort of omnipotent power that is compelling him against his will. His feet stopped in front of Tony’s door, just as he had expected it to. He found Steve on the floor, in the same position he was in the last time he had walked in on Steve grieving, but it was different too. Steve wasn’t curled around a t-shirt or an item of clothing anymore but rather around a frame. Peter didn’t need to look at it to know what the picture was of. He shuffled awkwardly- Peter had spent a lot of time in his life grieving, he knew what it was like. Grief was like a blanket, dark and grey- it etched closer and closer to you with every passing minute, each step it takes dragging through eternity. When the blanket finally wraps around you, it is anti-climactic in a sense because it feels _peaceful._ The time period before grief fully hits is a time of being completely numb- nothing more than an unfeeling statue. But when grief finally sets down, the sheer pleasure of feeling _something-_ anything- is a blessing. The blanket of grief that wraps around you is comfortable, protective even if it is painful, but people want that blanket to themselves. In here, in Tony’s room Steve was able to grieve and Peter didn’t want to intrude on that.

 

Steve must have heard Peter however, because he turned and locked his tear-stained eyes with Peter’s own. He held Peter’s gaze for a moment- just a moment before he turned away and resumed searching for whatever answer he was looking for in the New York skyline- but suddenly Peter _understood._ He walked over to Steve slowly, deliberated every movement so that Steve had a chance to turn away.

 

He didn’t.

 

Slowly, Peter sat down, his elbows touching with Steve’s. They stared out of the window in silence, watching the night life in New York in all its glory. From the 100thfloor penthouse of the Avengers Tower, every beam of light in New York looked like tiny stars littered across the night sky. There was a sense of peace in the air, a cool gust of wind flowing in through the open window, and Peter found himself _missing_ the outside for the first time in a long time.

 

It was Steve who finally broke the silence.

 

“I keep expecting to see him flying outside.” He whispered, his voice small and broken and good lord did Peter feel that in his bones. “He loved taking the suit out for a spin in the night, said it helped clear his head. I keep expecting him to fly to the roof with a bag of shawarma.”

 

Peter said nothing for a while, let Steve reminisce with a smile.

 

“When I’m in the lab,” Peter began, “sometimes I turn to pass a screwdriver or a bolt or something and then realise there is no one there. Sometimes I even drop it thinking I’m handing it over to him, and only when the screwdriver falls to the ground and DUM-E comes and picks it up do I realise that he’s not here anymore.” Peter looked at Steve with sad, panicked eyes.

 

“He’s dead. He’s dead and I don’t think I will ever be able to hand that.”

 

That night, Peter Parker cried for the first time in 32 days, 5 hours and 14 minutes- cried for the father he never got to cherish.

 

And if James Rhodes walked into the room the next morning to find Captain America and Spiderman huddled together on the floor asleep, a photo frame that held the picture of two laughing friends- who for all their love for each other, never got the chance to be more- then no one has to know.

 


	3. happy birthday, underoos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Peter woke up, he felt nothing. 
> 
> (or: how Peter finally begins to heal)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo here I am again? 
> 
> I just needed to write something for Peter's birthday but I also love making them suffer so oops?

When Peter woke up, he felt nothing.

 

Now, that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary by any means- since the night with Steve in Tony’s room when Peter had _finally_ opened up, he had felt perpetually better. The grief of losing his father-figure, the grief that was etched deep into his bones, which shot up his nerves with every movement, every jolt, the pain being a constant reminder of the gaping hole left in his heart, was still present (Peter didn’t think it would ever really go away) but it was less persistent now that Peter stopped trying to shoulder it alone. The first night Peter woke up from a nightmare of a red planet and ash and a lifeless body on the floor- bits of red and gold covering it like a protective blanket and yet not enough to preserve the life form in it- Steve had burst into his room, all Captain America-like. He said nothing, didn’t ask Peter if he was okay, he just hugged Peter to his chest as Peter sobbed uncontrollably. Finally, _finally,_ when Peter’s sobs subsided had Steve relaxed his hold on Peter, looking at him shyly before whispering “do you want to go watch a movie?” Peter nodded slowly, when they got to the empty common room area FRIDAY put on Star Wars without any prompting. Steve had disappeared into the kitchen- when he appeared a minute later, it was with two tubs of ice cream (mint chocolate chips for Peter, and Peter could still hear the arguments as to whether mint is an acceptable ice cream flavour echoing in his mind) and quietly sat down next to Peter as the movie begun.

 

(Peter didn’t know if Tony had talked about it, about how this was their nightly routine whenever Peter stayed over and had a nightmare, and he didn’t ask, either. Maybe he didn’t want to know the answer. Maybe he already knew.)

 

But the morning in question, when he woke up he prayed to every higher power that he would feel _something._

 

This was the day Peter Parker turned 17, and he didn’t want to feel numb.

 

He knew, months before, that Tony was planning something. (He may have been a billionaire superhero, but Tony Stark did not do well with subtlety).

 

And that knowledge made Peter feel numb.

 

“Mr Parker, Captain Rogers is inquiring if you are awake yet. What should I tell him?” came FRIDAY’s voice.

 

Peter blinked. “Tell him I’ll be down in a minute,” he said finally, throwing his legs over his bed as he grabbed a hoodie from the chair he had deposited it in the previous night. (Peter was always cold, even if it is mid-summer.)

 

He walked into the kitchen slowly, his body protesting every step he took. Out in front of him stood Steve, grinning next to the breakfast table which was laid out with blueberry pancakes and orange juice. “Do you want ice cream or syrup?” asked Steve, moving into the kitchen. “Uh, both?” Peter said bewildered. “What is all this?”

 

Steve walked over to Peter, standing in front of him for a second before enveloping Peter in a hug. The angle was a little awkward- Peter did only reach up to Steve’s chest- but it was relaxing, and Peter eased into it. “Happy birthday, Peter,” Steve whispered into his ear. Peter swallowed the lump in his throat, tightening his arms around Steve in response. Steve let him go after a moment, leading him to the table where he gestured Peter to sit down. “You just missed your aunt, she was going to be here for your birthday breakfast but there was an emergency at the hospital and she had to leave. She promises to be there for your birthday lunch, though.”

 

“I don’t want to make a big fuss today, Steve,” Peter sighed. “It’s just lunch, Pete,” Steve said. “Eat quickly, you need to open your presents.”

 

Peter wanted to say something, but he looked up to see a glimmer in Steve’s eyes. Steve had been wandering the compound like a ghost; Peter knew that Steve ached to get out of there, get out of where memories of Tony haunted him every day, but he stayed. He stayed for Peter, and clearly Peter’s birthday is bringing a little bit of excitement for Steve. Peter owed it to him to give him that. So he smiled instead, “thank you.”

 

When Steve led Peter into the common room area, the room looked like Christmas threw up on it. The table was littered with badly wrapped presents, streamers and banners and balloons thrown around the room. And standing on a chair, struggling with one end of a banner was Bucky, who was trying to tape the banner to the wall with his metal arm. “There is your first present,” Steve whispered, pushing Peter forward.

 

“Bucky?” he called out, and Bucky turned to give him a slow smile. “And there is the birthday boy,” he called out, climbing down from the chair to give Peter a hug. “Happy birthday, spider-boy,” he said. “Congratulations, you’re one step closer to earing the ‘man’ part of your name!” Peter laughed, the noise surprising him. He saw Bucky and Steve exchange a delighted smile. As he detangled himself from Bucky, the room erupted with a cry of “happy birthday!” and, from the vent directly above him came Clint and Natasha. May, Bruce and Scott walked in holding a big cake whilst Thor and Loki flew in through the open window. Peter’s smile grew wider. “Happy birthday, возлюбленная,” Natasha said, bending down to hug him. It took a while, hugging everyone, his smile growing wider with every exchange. In this room was, for better or for worse, his family. “Where is Rhodey?” Peter asked, his eyes scanning the room.  His words seemed to be a signal, because just as it was uttered, Rhodey flew in in full War Machine armour, in each arm carrying Ned and MJ.  “Happy birthday, loser,” Michelle said as Ned ran to hug him. Peter blushed, his eyes avoiding Steve and Bucky’s grin and Natasha’s calculating gaze. “Cake time!” Clint called out, but Steve stepped in front. “No,” he said in his Captain America voice, “Peter needs to open some of his presents first.” He took Peter by the shoulder, leading him to a pile of presents kept on a separate table. He looked at Rhodey and May, who each gave him a quick nod, before looking at Peter. “Tony left you these presents, with strict instructions to give you these on your birthday.” Peter’s smile dropped as soon as the words left Steve’s mouth. The celebratory attitude in the room quickly became solemn. May walked over to Peter, gently kissing him on the forehead. “We’ll be in the kitchen, whenever you’re ready.” Peter nodded. 

 As everyone left the room, Steve throwing one last sad smile Peter’s way before exiting out himself, Peter picked up the present closest to him. A note was attached to it in Tony’s scrawly handwriting.   _Never stop being the adorable nerd that you are, kid._ Peter opened it to find multiple sets of lego he didn’t even know existed.  One by one, Peter opened his presents: the new StarkPhone Peter knew hasn’t been released in the market, an actual replica of Death Star (because of-fucking-course Tony Stark can find one of those), Spiderman shoes and plushie (he still hasn’t been able to go out as Spiderman, he thinks with a pang), Iron Man pyjamas (Peter cried when he saw those), a MIT hoodie _(carry on my legacy of wreaking havoc at MIT, son- I was going to take you the day after your birthday, but the higher powers don’t want me back there I guess),_ a t-shirt that says ‘I make horrible science puns, but only periodically-‘ he kept opening every single one of the presents Peter knows Tony picked with excruciating attention until there were only two more left in the pile. He picked the smallest one first, carefully unwrapping it until a card slipped out. It was one of those personalised ones, a picture of Tony and Peter eating candyfloss during their trip to the funfair just a few days before everything happened. Tony was trying to grab onto Peter’s candyfloss, which Peter was pushing out of reach. They were both laughing with their eyes closed, the picture a little blurry because the person taking it (May) was shaking with laughter. He opened the card slowly, knowing that the message inside with rip his heart out.   

   _Hey underoos,_ the message began

_Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you *insert high note*_ _(Don’t laugh kid, I’m a fan-fucking-tastic singer and we both know it.)_ _Looks like you’re finally closer to not being a kid. Don’t let it get to your head, spider-baby- you’ll always be my kid. I spent a lot of time trying to find presents to give you, because nothing I find seems to be enough. This present is one that money can’t buy (I don’t do well with those kind of things) but the only one that seems to be remotely close enough to insinuating how much you mean to me._

_Always keep smiling, Pete._

_Tony_

The wrapping disclosed a large leather-bound book. Peter opened the first page. And then turned another. And another. The book was full of pictures- pictures from lazy days at the lab, from family dinners, from that one Maria Stark Foundation Gala Tony insisted Peter attends with him, the Iron Man tie Peter wore at the funeral standing out against his green velvet jacket and making Peter’s tears fall with more force. Somewhere as Peter flipped the pages, May and Steve had positioned themselves on either side of Peter, wrapping their arms around him and pulling him close as he wept. The Avengers, Ned and Michelle were all standing around the trio, forming a protective semi-circle around them as if acting as a barrier against the grief out in the world. When Peter flipped close the book, Rhodey handed him the final box.  “He was going to give you this on your birthday,” he said sadly, “along with another invitation to join the Avengers.”  Peter didn’t need to open it to see what it was. His Iron Spider suit stood in all its glory, but Peter could not bear to look at it. This is the suit he died in, but worse, this was the suit he had hugged his father’s lifeless body in. Never seeing it again would have been too soon.  Peter wiped his tears away with the back of his hand, sniffing as he sought out Steve amongst everyone else. “Can you do something for me?” he asked. Steve smiled, “anything for you, Peter.”  

 

 “Hey, Tony,” Peter said an hour later. “Thank you for the presents. How long had you been planning this anyway? If you actually managed to buy all this it probably would have been months in advance? Honestly, you’re organised for all the wrong reasons- not that I don’t appreciate it! They’re great, they’re perfect! Thank you.” Peter paused for a second, swallowing hard. “You know I call you Tony now? It just slips out. You probably love it, don’t you? I haven’t been out as Spiderman for a while, but I think I’m ready now. Steve has been taking really good care of me- you told him to, didn’t you? That is why he isn’t leaving, right? I would argue and say I don’t need him, but I don’t think I could have managed it without him there. Not that he can ever replace you! There will never be another like you, Tony. I just wanted to- needed to- say thank you, for everything. For coming to me when I needed you, for always being a steady, constant support. I promise to do you proud.” He laid the flowers down on Tony’s grave carefully. “I love you, Dad.”  Throwing one last look at the grave, Peter walked away slowly to where Steve was waiting for him in the car.

 

                                                            

                                                                                                                ~

 

_Tony Stark;_

_Genius, Mechanic, Friend, Father_

_ Hero _

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry? 
> 
> I can't find the post anymore, it was something about Far From Home starting with Uncle Ben's death and then having a time jump of 4/5 years to Peter crying over Tony's dead body so if anything finds it, please let me know so that I can link it.


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